‘Alright, I’ll do it.’
Do what exactly? I’ve never really been sure about what she wanted me to do. Try hard at something to meet her needs until you reach a point where it isn’t good enough. I should probably walk away and rid myself of the heartache; the pervasive sense of dread that accompanies our lives, her demeanour perpetually slumped.
I cut ties with most of the outside influences; the ones who told me to do something different, enjoy life for what it is and not for the preconceived notion of what it should be. She told me they were conspiring, said they’d been like that back in high-school, that when I’d vied for her affections they put roadblocks in the way, subtle hints about myself, one’s that questioned my intentions.
That’s the problem with love; it makes you do crazy things. I asked her if there was another way, she said no. She always said no. The first one let his eyes linger for too long. I’d been in the bathroom and she said he gave her a look, an impression that he could have her at any moment and there was nothing she could do to stop it. I remember the sound of the pint pot shattering, my face sprayed with blood as he lay on the floor, thick chunks of glass stuck in his head. I got away with it that time but it just kept happening. She’s so persuasive, so convincing.
I’m sat in the car outside the house. My hand entwined with hers, the other gripping the hammer.
‘You know we can never truly be free whilst she’s still in our lives?’
I look at her and smile, a tear trickling down my cheek at the prospect of what I’m about to do.